


Belonging

by MotleyMoose



Series: Homecoming [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst adjacent, Gen, a bes'bev is just a stabby flute, a nice relaxing shower scene, emotions are hard, everything is going to turn out... okayish?, flangst, forgiveness is hard, learning to get along, mando'a heavy, paz is a softie, paz knows how to get the anger out, the child is just gonna sleep through all of these revelations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:14:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26543533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotleyMoose/pseuds/MotleyMoose
Summary: Will I ever be comfortable with... *waves hands vaguely in the air*... this?
Relationships: Din Djarin & Sibling!Reader, Paz Vizsla & Reader
Series: Homecoming [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846768
Kudos: 14





	1. Not Everything Has A Dual-Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are! The last part of the series!!!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's gone on to read this. Y'all are _golden_ in my books.

_The blue-gray Mandalorian sat staring at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, slapping his beskared thighs with his beautiful hands, he stood up and strode purposefully to the door. “We can’t hold you against your will, atinad’ika,” he sighed, sliding back bolts with practiced ease. “Even if you don’t believe you are part of this Clan, we will always accept you back. No matter what happens out there.” Finished with the bolts, he turned to the control panel to punch in the code. “But one thing, atinad’ika.” His dark tan fingers hovered over the release button, helmet tilted towards me. “We aren’t the only ones who know about your buir. There are… other forces out there that also search for him. And if they find out that you are his…”_

_I froze. Frag. I hadn’t even thought about someone else out there to get me. “What would you have me do?” I asked, swallowing the cracks in my voice._

_Lowering his hand, the Mandalorian turned to me, tensed as if ready for a struggle. “Are you sure you want to know?” he murmured, his vocoder barely registering the rich depths of his voice._

_“Elek,” I replied nervously, knowing all too well what he was going to ask of me._

_“Stay.”_

\---  
“I can’t,” I said, readjusting my bag over my shoulders. Fear knotted in my gut, a cold sweat pricking up my spine. “I-I’m _dar’aliit_. I told D- I told him before I ran out of there. There’s no going back.” I bit my lip, splitting the newly-healing skin and causing the injury to seep fresh, tangy blood onto my tongue.

Flexing his fists, the Mandalorian tensed and glanced back at the nearly unlocked door, contemplating. “It was said in anger,” he said, but without any of the warmth from before. He moved forward, stepping around me to pluck his forgotten gloves from the crate. Less than a foot away from me, he concentrated wholly on covering his hands. Staring down at the scuffed leather, the giant shook his head, muttering something under his breath that I couldn’t quite catch, something in the clipped Mando’a he’d used earlier to send his partner away.

I waited, half expectantly, for him to ultimately let me out. Mandalorians took their clans seriously, and if I declared that I was no longer a part of it, even in anger, to one of my Clan, then I was as good as gone.

The warrior turned back to the door. Hope sprung within my chest. I was used to others chasing after me, spent a good part of my adult life dodging bounty hunters and Mihca’s goons and jilted partners. Yeah, I was afraid of what would happen if any of them caught up to me, but if I had to choose between the fear of of being captured versus remaining underground with at least one Mandalorian who didn’t care for me, I’d much rather take my chances with the unknown forces looking for my _buir_.

A series of _schnikts_ pulled me from my thoughts. The Mandalorian was finishing up on sliding the bolts back home, checking and rechecking each one before turning back to me. I gawped at him.

“ _Olaro ni, atinad’ika_. I’ve got something to show you.” Striding past me, he gave me a sideways glance. “I think it will do you… and _him_... some good.”

The teasing tone on the edge of his voice intrigued me. Furrowing my eyebrows, I took a step forward. “But what about the door?” I asked. The other guard still hadn’t returned, and even though I didn’t trust him, I didn’t want the blue-gray Mando to get into trouble. I didn’t have enough space in my guilty conscience to add another problem to it.

“It’ll keep,” he gruffed over his shoulder. “Now, _copaani gar olaror ra nayc?_ ”

“ _Fine,_ ” I said. What else was there for me to do?

A side passage, the opening recessed deeply into the wall, brought us to the back of a domed chamber not dissimilar to the Armorer’s sanctum. It was largish, with slanted walls that met at a peak somewhere high above us in the shadows. Thick woven mats covered a raised podium in the middle of the room, and weapons of all shapes and sizes lined the outer walls in tidy, organized rows. A sage green warrior sat at a workbench tucked away in the corner next to the main door, occupied with sharpening a wicked-looking electro sword.

“ _Su’cuy, goor’verd! Tion’tuur gar ba’slana?_ ”

“ _Ta’raysh tuure_ ,” she replied without looking up from her work. “ _Gar dinui waadas par ne’tra gal ibi’tuur. Ra vaabi gar digu._ ” She inclined her visor a fraction at the giant.

“ _Mando’ad draar digu_ ,” the blue-gray Mandalorian said in turn, ushering me toward the weapons nearest the workbench. “Pick out a _bes’bev_.”

“Why?” I asked, crossing my arms. The least he could do was tell me what the frag we were doing here. I eyed the pointy sticks on the wall, arranged from shortest to longest. They looked like they could hurt. A lot.

The warrior shook his head, chuckling. “We are going to see how much of that _uram_ is _jehaat_ and how much is _veman_.”

Snorting, I turned to the wall of weapons. “I could show you a lot easier if these were knives,” I grumbled, selecting a _bes’bev_ as long as my forearm. “I have no idea how to use a… a… flute?” The cool metal instantly warmed in my hands as I studied what appeared to be a musical instrument with a deadly-looking stabby end.

A hand snaked past my shoulder and grabbed a _bes’bev_ that was a little longer than the one I’d chosen. “It’s a dual-purpose instrument; it can make pretty sounds and then be used to gut an _aruetii_ ,” the giant warrior said, laying his free hand on my shoulder and steering me to the center of the room.

“Aha, _Paz’ika. Copaani muun’baji gar yam’bas’ika?_ ” the green warrior chimed in as she set aside her electro sword and joined us near the podium, her visor trained eagerly on us. “ _Meh ni’nakar’mi be mayen jate’shya, ni’mirdi kaysh’cuyi haar solus bah muun’baji gar!_ ” Her delighted laughter rang through the room like so many birds that I felt a smile tug at my own lips.

I nudged the blue-gray Mando with my elbow. “She’s funny. I like her,” I said, beaming at the green warrior.

“ _Ne’johaa_ and get on the mats,” he growled in mock seriousness.

The other Mando laughed again before lowering herself crosslegged to the floor, hungry and waiting for a good spar.

I hated to disappoint her, but I knew that it was going to be a shitshow. The blue-gray giant had size, strength and at least a little bit of knowledge of a _bes’bev_ on his side. All I had was some learning on knife fighting and a penchant for getting into dangerously awkward situations.

“Now, take a fighting stance,” he instructed, shifting his weight until his feet were wider than hip-width, shoulders set. One arm was raised in defense near his face while the other was out in front, parallel to his chest, the _bes’bev_ gripped firmly in his huge hand.

I copied his movements, finding a slight bounce in my knees as I rocked onto the balls of my feet.

With a flick of his wrist, he began twirling the _bes’bev_ , spinning it faster and faster until it was just a blur in his hand. Sounds began to fly from it, the force of the wind rushing around the beveled holes causing eerily dissonant whistles and moans to fill the room. Mesmerized, I watched as the warrior tossed the flute into the air and caught it behind his back. He performed the trick several more times, the flying arc of the _bes’bev_ becoming higher and shriller with each throw. The sound was becoming nerve-rattling, the flashing of the steel blinding. I stood there slack-jawed as my eyes followed the weapon, completely caught up in the moment.

Which is how I found myself on the ground with the business end of the instrument pointed directly at my throat.

“Never let your guard down, _atin’ika,_ ” he laughed. Holding out his free hand, the Mando pulled me to my feet with a small hop. I swept a sweaty palm through my hair, disguising my embarrassment in what I hoped was a successful manner.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” I wheezed, bending over to pick up my dropped weapon.

The Mandalorian returned to his starting position. “Care to spar?” he chuckled as he watched me return to position.

“ _Ni n’gana jaro,_ ” I muttered, squaring my shoulders. “I want you to teach me how to make this thing sound like it’s haunted.”

“I can do that.”  
…………………..

Din was nowhere to be found when I returned to our shared quarters late into the night. The child’s pod floated empty next to the wardrobe, and the evidence of our fight was neatened with militaristic precision. I tossed my pack onto the bed before guiltily retrieving it and hanging it by its straps on a hook in the wardrobe. I didn’t want to be accused of being a slob.

The blue-gray Mando’s words rolled over and over inside my head as I kicked my boots off under the bed, flopping wearily on the sharply folded blankets. Were there really entities out there trying to hunt me down? I had thought being a bounty was bad enough. Did I really think I could survive out in the greater galaxy on my own? My fighting skills, although greatly expanded by this evening’s bout in the weapons room, were mediocre at best. Yeah, I could throw a knife like anybody’s business, maybe land a few good punches and kicks, but that was it. I didn’t have the formal, refined training like the warriors in the covert did, and I could feel myself lacking in ways I hadn’t ever really dwelled on before.

Sitting up with a groan, I got out of the bunk and went to my pack, rummaging around until I had a clean tunic and a pair of soft long thermals, along with a well-worn towel and a sliver of rough-cut rosemary-and-salt soap. I stripped out of my jumpsuit, tossing it in a crumpled heap underneath the spot where my bag hung, and padded softly through the door and across the cold hallway to a community ‘fresher I’d spotted on my walk back.

Once inside, I passed the short row of spotless sinks lined up under a single rectangular mirror near the entrance, ignored the small alcoves of _oshokita_ , and made my way to the empty multi-being shower stall. Twisting the knob, I waited for the water to warm up, stripping carefully out of the filthy tunic and long underwear. New bruises bloomed brightly on my rib cage and my thighs, and I was more than certain there were more littering my back and face. The giant Mando hadn’t gone easy on me, for which I was grateful; with everything else in my life gone to complete shit, at least I could rely on the truth that came with physical pain.

Oh Maker, that was grim. But it felt right in the moment.

Steam wafted from the showerhead. I stepped under the stream, relishing in the heat and the sting. I wasn’t entirely sure what the rations were in the covert, so I cut my relaxation short and quickly scrubbed from head to toe, shutting the water off immediately after the soap had rinsed away. I dried and dressed with equal speed, cleaned my teeth and handled my hair, and moseyed on back to the room I was apparently sharing with my annoying yet new-found brother and his adorable gremlin child.

This wasn’t going to be an awkward night. Not. At. All.

The door stood ajar, the light from the room dazzling in the dimness of the tunnel. I knew _he_ had returned.

_Frag_.

Inhaling deeply, I blew out all of my trepidations and irritations with a force strong enough to knock down an AT-AT. Chest empty and head somewhat clearer, I toed the door open and was greeted with a stranger seated at the table, the kid asleep in his arms.

“Who the frag are you?” I frowned, dropping my dirty clothes and toiletries on the bunk. The guy looked vaguely familiar, the way his shoulders were set, the slight cock to his head. I’d almost swear he was…

“ _Osik!_ ” My hands flew to my face and I whirled on the spot. “Fragging frag it! Sorry, I didn’t realize you were-”

“It’s alright,” Din said quietly.

I took a deep breath, steeling my nerves and calming the slumbering rage beast stirring in my gut. “I - I said we were _dar’aliit_. I’m not supposed to see… to see _you_.” I dropped my hands to my sides, fists clenching with anxious energy, eyes staring at the beaten metal encasing the door.

“It was said in anger,” he said slowly, repeating the words the blue-gray warrior had spoken earlier. “I was… too harsh with you. It is my fault that we fought.”

I smirked mirthlessly at the door frame, replaying the events of the past week in my head. “I’m no more innocent than _you_ on that front, _shab_.”

Din chuckled quietly, a sound smoother and deeper than what that tin can of his let on. “That may be true, but you and I both know who started it.” His words were teasing, but the underlying truth of them stung more than a little bit.

“Are you trying to pick another fight with me? Because I _will_ end it,” I said, ruffled. My bottled-up emotions were going to get the better of me, no matter how hard I tried to control them. I inhaled deeply through my nose and let the air hiss out through my teeth.

The child cooed sleepily. Din hummed tunelessly until the kid quieted again. “I wouldn’t doubt that, _mir’sheb_. But no, I’m not trying to pick a fight with you… not now, anyway,” he replied soberly.

I was too tired and bruised to pull any more snark out of my brain, so I addressed the door in the blandest tone possible. “I’m about as fond of you as you are of me. I don’t see a truce lasting that long.”

“Agreed. But, as we’re going to be living together for the foreseeable future, it doesn’t hurt to try,” he replied.

“Fine,” I sighed.

“Good,” Din agreed.

And with that, I collapsed sideways onto the bunk and fell into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Reopening Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get along. For a short while, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, gorgeous fellow humans!
> 
> Sorry it's been so long since I've posted but... well, I've fallen into other fandoms and I can't get out. Hopefully this will tide y'all over for the time being until I get the rest of it in order. I may have said we were coming to the end, but oh boy, did I get a spark of creativity and angst.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading!

“Kid, if you don’t get back here with that vibroknife _right this instant_ , you’re dad will kill us _both_.”

Giggles erupted from underneath the bunk, and I dropped to my knees, squinting through the darkness at the little green womprat. He was pressed into the farthest corner where the bunk came out of the wall, large eyes wide open and tiny three-fingered hands clutching the weapon in question to his chest. I grunted like an annoyed bantha and reached for him.

“You don’t - have enough - fingers - as it is!” I said forcefully with each swipe at the child. The kid only grinned wider (how was that even _possible_?) and shrieked in delight. We were playing two wildly different versions of “Keep Away,” and it was only a matter of time before someone got stabbed.

Erm, _accidently_ stabbed.

Wedging myself further under the bed, I made another grab for him.

“ _Yeeowch!_ ”

“Can I not leave you two for five minutes without someone making that sound?” Din asked from somewhere above and behind me.

Cursing under my breath, I awkwardly wriggled out from underneath the bunk with the blade in hand. “Maybe if you were a better _buir_ , we wouldn’t be having this issue.” I gingerly released the vibroblade to my other hand and examined the freshly bleeding cut running from finger webbing to wrist.

“And maybe if you were a better _ba’vodu_ , this wouldn’t happen at _all_ ,” he snipped back, removing the knife from my hand as he roughly pulled the other to him for inspection. “You’ll live.”

I stuck my tongue out at him. He snorted and removed his helmet, setting it reverently on the low table where we sometimes ate and worked in silence. “Get that cleaned up and I’ll help you bandage it.” He jutted his chin at my bleeding hand as he began to remove the other components of his armor.

Giving him a mock salute with my uninjured hand, I stepped up to the kitchenette and waved my hand underneath the faucet. The water was shockingly warm out of the tap and smelled strongly of sulfur, but that was to be expected coming from hot springs hidden deep below Nevarro’s arid crust. I allowed the water to wash the bright blood down the drain before I dried my hands on my jumpsuit legs. Din already had the medkit in hand when I turned around, so I begrudgingly allowed him to bandage the cut.

I guess it was the least he could do since it was his kid who’d stabbed me. With my knife. When I was supposed to be watching him.

Okay, okay, okay. So maybe it was all my fault for putting the vibroblade in a place the little gremlin could reach it. Which with his powers was essentially anywhere and everywhere. I don’t know how he did it, nor did I understand much about the Force. All I understood was that the kid was a very powerful, surprisingly old creature that was being hunted down by a slew of bounty hunters sent out by the Imps.

Things were going remarkably better between me and Din since the day we struck our truce. No punches had been thrown. No snide remarks had been spoken. We were even almost _civil_ to each other. Of course, it was probably due in large part to Paz Vizsla. If it weren’t for the sparring sessions, lessons at the gun range and the constant cleaning, repairing and maintenance of the elderly machinery spread throughout the covert, I probably would have found the time to pick a fight with my _vod_. But, such as it was, I was either too tired or too busy to even _think_ about pestering Din.

“What are you doing back already? I thought you said you were going to be gone for at least two days.” I frowned, looking up to him as he rose and returned the medkit to its spot. “It’s only been, what, twelve hours?” Time underground had thrown off my internal clock, but not enough that I didn’t recognize the shortness of his absence.

Sinking onto the foot of the bunk, he leaned forward on his elbows and rested his head in his hands. Tired, weary, depressed. It didn’t matter what the emotion was. Something was wrong in that head of his. It wasn’t likely that he’d open up very easy to me as we’d only just started to get along, but maybe with a little bit of prodding I could get him to tell me what happened. I leaned forward. "What the hell hap-"

Din cut me off with an exhausted, tart growl. “I found him. I found Drys Reyn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _buir_ \- parent  
>  _ba'vodu_ \- aunt/uncle  
>  _vod_ \- sibling

**Author's Note:**

>  _dar’aliit_ \- clan-less, no longer part of a Clan  
>  _Olaro ni, atinad’ika_ \- Follow me, stubborn.  
>  _copaani gar olaror ra nayc?_ \- You comin’ or not? [lit. You want to come or no?]  
> “ _Su’cuy, goor’verd! Tion’tuur gar ba’slana?_ ” - Hey, grenadier! When are you leaving? [lit. Hi, grenadier! When (which day) you leave?]  
> “ _Ta’raysh tuure. Gar dinui waadas par ne’tra gal ibi’tuur. Ra vaabi gar digu._ ” - Ten days. You’re paying for beer tonight. Or did you forget. [lit. Ten days. You pay credits for black ale today. Or do you forget.]  
>  _Mando’ad draar digu_ \- A Mandalorian never forgets.  
>  _bes’bev_ \- Mandalorian wind instrument also used for combat: a large metal flute with a sharpened, cut-off end.  
>  _uram_ \- mouth  
>  _jehaat_ \- untruth, lie  
>  _veman_ real, genuine  
>  _aruetii_ \- traitor, foreigner, outsider  
> Aha, _Paz’ika. Copaani muun’bajir gar yam’bas’ika?_ \- Aha, Little Paz. Are you going to teach your little pet the hard way? [lit. You want to educate hard your little pet?] (yam’bas - pet {comes from the mandoa forums})  
>  _Meh ni’nakar’mi be mayen jate’shya, ni’mirdi kaysh’cuyi haar solus bah muun’bajir gar!_ \- If I’m not mistaken, I think they will be the one to kick your butt! [lit. If I am unaware of anything better, I think he/she will be the one to trounce you!] [ **my loose grasp on the language may not be growing stronger, but it _is_ getting braver**]  
>  _Ne’johaa_ \- Shut up  
>  _Ni n’gana jaro_ \- I don’t have a deathwish  
>  _oshokita_ \- freshers (from plank of wood used in field latrines)  
>  _Osik!_ \- Shit!  
>  _shab_ \- bud, chum, pal - but sarcastic/rude-like  
>  _mir’sheb_ \- smartass


End file.
